Three Days In Azkaban
by miiaPotter
Summary: Sirius wants to be free.


You see that same white wall in front of you and think about all this lost time in jail. Because you are trapped within three white walls and a metal gate, through which enters your food. If you can call food that gray and old thing. The dementors are with you and suck away your happiness. All you can see are the pale, white bodies of James and Lily, still and dead. There is nothing worse than seeing your best friends dead in front of your damn life that no longer makes sense. Perhaps there is the pain in the eyes of your brother when you said that you wouldn't talk to him anymore if he stays in that god damned house, that you are now leaving, for good. Never thought that was the last time you would talk to the little Regulus, until he visited you sick. He seemed crazy, saying to you, you were always right, and that he didn't want to die in the hands of the Dark Lord, and that old muddy elf shutting him up and trying to get him to rest after what had happened that night. Also the look of disappointment from Albus, the best director in Hogwarts, the day they sentenced you to Azkaban. Or the look of reproach in your best friend's eyes, Remus, while you laughed after seeing Peter run away pretending to be dead. The look of sadness in Remus' eyes when you dressed in Azkaban's clothes, were taken to prison where you know you would die. And finally you see him. The cutest baby you ever saw. In his saddest moment in life. Crying and weeping for his now dead parents.

When the dementors leave your cell, you know you have to leave that place, because if not you will die, soon. And you remember what you saw the other day, remembered how that old minister of Fudge have you his newspaper. In which the disgusting rat of traitor of Peter was. And you knew that you would regain revenge, and you know you won't let this crazy place kill you, because if your parents' house didn't do it, this cell wouldn't wither. You lift up the stone with the one you often thought of killing yourself and approach it to the wall. In it you mark the days till your great performance. You know you can escape, you know it because you are sure you will kill the traitor. You'll do it for your best friends; you will not let them die in vain. You will kill the traitor. And then, you'll take care of your little nephew.

Three days, you repeat to yourself. You try to sleep, but the constant cried of delirium of your colleagues won't let you. You know most of them deserve Azkaban. And you can not believe you're in their same place. This should be their punishment. And it ended being yours too. You know your cousin is in a cell further than yours. You hear her screaming at nights, you hear her declare her love for her Lord. And you can't stop the urge to run out and kill her with your bare hands, because you know what she and her Lord did. He killed your best friends, and she tortured your friends, the Longbottoms. Great people, who because of your same blood are trapped in a hospital room. You know it because you heard some doctors who came to see Bellatrix. They wanted the truth about Frank and Alice.

Three days you repeat. In three days you will be out of that torturous filth. You will visit you godson, you will meet again, you will clear things up with Remus, and you will kill the traitor rat, and maybe you will put some flowers in your friends' graves. Those who gave their lives for their little one year old child. Those to whom you owe most of your happy moments, which the damn Azkaban's guards removed from you.

Three days you repeat. Three days. Three days and you will be free. Three days and you'll get revenge. Three days. Three days. With the long stone you tear the wall; you can not stand the pain anymore. You need to get out of there, quickly. But then you remember that in three days you will. You planned it wisely. Your mind remains sane; you didn't become a crazy old man. And you don't know why. Maybe you do, but you don't want to know. Knowing to be sane because you know you shouldn't be there hurts. It hurts, a lot. Hurts like nothing had hurt before. You are unable to stop the tears rolling round your cheeks. And suddenly you are Padfoot. Pain disappears when you become into the hairy black dog. The dementors can't suck your good memories while being Padfoot. That's why you transform, or because like this it hurts less and you can think better, you don't know. You don't want to know. You only know that in only three days, you will be free.


End file.
